Possessive
by GreyLiliy
Summary: Jonathan Crane has never felt this way before. And he'd make sure the man who caused this feeling took full responsibility. Scarecrow x Wayne.


Heh; This is a bit of a personal challenge fic. that has come from 1) Loving the pairing (...I blame you Lauralot!) and a few e-mail conversations where it came up. Struggled a bit in the middle of this, but I think it turned out okay over-all and I'm sick of looking at it.

Anyway, The challenge? Scarecrow x Bruce, One-Shot. Theme: Kidnapping. Got it? Good. So, here, we, go~

_Warning: Contains Non-Con._

**Possessive**

Scarecrow had to admit, in his plans for life there were quite a bit of things unexpected. His utter failure in the narrows, for starters, involving a massive inhale of his own toxin which had left him- Dr. Crane preferred 'enlightened' but he was sure most of Gotham would use the term 'touched in the head' quite freely. It didn't hinder him in any fashion that he could tell other than a much higher tolerance for his favorite drug so all in all, not a horrid event. A career in drug trafficking was a bit of a surprise as well, but Dr. Crane always knew that the distribution of his toxin after 'the incident' would be difficult and well, what better way to spread product than through already established means of trade and routing?

And don't even mention the Bat Man. Jonathan snorted to himself as he sipped slowly on a cup of coffee in a (clean) mug. His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by a slosh of water falling through the hole in the roof of the disgusting apartment he found himself in after his last escape from Arkham. Honestly, you think they'd take into consideration how long he worked there and how well he knew the system. If you know how it works - you know how to break it. Simple logic really that only brought him back to realizing how far off course his life had gotten from his days as Administrator.

No, his earlier reminiscences were not planned events for his life in any way, but at least they were somewhat understandable concerning how things had went. Drug trafficking was the most logical choice after his work with legal drugs fell through. And even the narrows project failing was not, a complete impossibility at the time. This latest bit, however, this one was- Jonathan paused; cup to his lips. Irrational. Wholly and completely absurd and unexplainable and yet there it was: A sudden attraction.

The television flickered again as some entertainment program rattled on about things he had no interest in. Jonathan sighed to himself. Now, he shouldn't be too shocked by this revelation, after all. Emotional and sexual attraction to another human being is almost always by nature illogical, irrational and beyond the scope of rational thought. "Love makes you stupid." Jonathan Crane was more shocked that it showed up at all more so than how it was affecting his judgement. You would think that after thirty or so years of life he would have experienced this before now. In fact, it had been so long Scarecrow had given up on such things.

Until of course, _he_ walked into his life.

Or crashed into it, as the case may be.

The selling of toxin mixed with recreational drugs was a careful game. If he didn't spread things out with just plain drugs once in a while, he'd have no repeat customers. No repeat customers meant no word of mouth advertising which meant no new subjects. Crane took great pride in his research and having a proper selection of subjects to test. That and he needed a control group anyway so it all worked out. Sadly, you did need money to manufacture his drugs regardless of their purpose and business had been down lately.

Seeing as he was already a wanted man be it as Jonathan Crane or The Scarecrow, the psychologist didn't see much harm in doing a more public job. It wasn't like he could sully his name any further as it was. So, about a month ago Jonathan decided if he was to be a villain of Gotham (the citizens' words, not his own - Scarecrow again, preferred 'visionary' and 'scientist') that robbing a bank wasn't completely out of the question. Grabbing a few hired hands, Jonathan arranged a neat and tidy little crew to take out Gotham's First National Bank. Considering even Bruce Wayne stored his money there it was sure to have at least something of value in the vault he could snatch and re-sell. Easier to get rid of than going through the trouble of laundering money.

Let the mob handle such household chores.

The robbery had been going quite well if you asked Scarecrow. His toxin had the guards writing on the floor and screaming about this and that (Bless Gargoyle statues guarding the doors.) and the customers frozen in fear. A perfect opportunity to walk to the front desk and kindly request a trip to the vault and a master key to the lock-boxes within. The lady behind the desk was most cooperative (also bless lackeys with semi-automatic weapons pointed at defenseless women) and escorted him neatly to the back vault.

Which was occupied.

Looking around the room, Scarecrow spotted one or two rich men loitering about with their hands up and discretely trying to stand in front of their respective security boxes. The idiots. Jonathan snorted and sprayed them in the face with the toxin from his wrist just for kicks. Their screaming would do wonders to keep those outside the vault in line. Scarecrow headed to the first box and was happy to find the key already in and the lid open to reveal a very pretty diamond bracelet set. Seems he interrupted a deposit. Wonderful.

"Hey, Professor."

"What is it, Justin?" Jonathan muttered as he lifted the trinket from the box. Good help was so hard to find but at least this particular one knew how to tie his shoes. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"There's a guy trying to sneak out the door."

Scarecrow turned around swiftly to see the man trying to crawl around the edge of the vault's inner door. Apparently he had been hiding just out of sight when they entered. Though, he didn't look so smart now that Justin had a rifle pointed in his face. "Well, well. Look who we've got here." Jonathan tilted his head as he put a name to the face. He wet his lips quickly as he looked at the prize in front of him. This man probably had enough money in his wallet on him to fund his research for a week. "If it isn't Arkham's biggest benefactor, Bruce Wayne."

"Jonathan Crane." Wayne acknowledged as he held his hands up in the air, eyes on Justin. Scarecrow snorted. Even with the mask on, of course they knew each other. He showed up at those board meetings all the time back when Crane was still on staff and it was common knowledge the frightening Scarecrow was Jonathan Crane. But it was an odd coincidence to say the least to see the man here.

Jonathan smiled softly and raised his eyebrows. "I'd say it was a pleasure to see you again, but that wouldn't be completely honest of me." He held out his hand in a mimic of a handshake and when Wayne refused to return the gesture, turned it so his palm was up. "Why don't we just skip to the important part where you give me your wallet and your deposit key?"

Wayne frowned but put a hand down slowly to pull out his wallet regardless. Crane smiled when said items were handed over without a fuss. Maybe the idiot playboy could be smart when he wanted to be. Heaven knows his good looks couldn't have carried him this far alone. "So this is whats' become of the brilliant Administrator of Arkham, huh? A common thief."

Or not. Crane scowled behind his burlap mask. Maybe he _was_ that much of an idiot. Justin was starting to get itchy behind him and he waved him on. "Finish the job, Justin." As soon as the man nodded and continued back, Crane turned his full attention to the fool before him. "A thief? Perhaps, but I like to think that sometimes the ends do in fact justify the means, Mr. Wayne."

Wayne's eyes were full of a certain fire that Crane was oh-so familiar with himself and Jonathan found himself slightly transfixed. "And what end, do you hope to find from this?"

The self-righteous tone that came spewing from the playboy's mouth was beyond infuriating. Crane felt his blood boiling and his temper leaving him. Something about this man just rubbed him the wrong way. It was a gut feeling he hadn't felt in a long while. Almost a burning in his stomach that caused him to fidget in place. This odd need to _move._ "The bes_t_," his mouth popped open hitting the 't' hard with his tongue against his teeth in emphasis, "ending for Gotham."

"I somehow doubt that." Wayne had the nerve to smile. (Jonathan shoved down the urge to add 'handsome' as an adjective.)

"Doubt what you like, Mr. Wayne." Jonathan held up his wrist and prepared to flick his wrist and find out just what scares the Prince of Gotham. Those brown eyes widened appropriately and Jonathan felt his first genuine smile of the night. "Your opinion won't matter much in the long run."

"Boss!" Justin shouted from the front door of the vault interrupting him.

"What is it?" Scarecrow hissed, wrist still aimed at the playboy.

"The cops!" Justin tilted his head towards the door and cocked his rifle. "Frankie just sent the signal."

He nearly huffed. "Grab what you can. We're getting out of here." Crane turned back to Wayne and jerked when he realized the man had already retreated a few feet just out of range. Maybe it was selective intelligence. Or not. Even the dumbest of creatures knew self preservation. Scarecrow tried not to look to put off that his fun had been ruined. He had so hoped to see those eyes of Wayne's turn to pin-points. "Seems we'll have to continue this later, Mr. Wayne."

"Seems we will." Wayne replied, back against the wall.

Jonathan could still remember that burning look in his eye as he joined Justin in the escape out of the building. Fleeing the scene had been far less interesting as they jumped into the van and sped off. They had about one hundred grand in sellable merchandise and approximately three hundred dollars in cash they had grabbed from patrons. A decent haul considering the Bat Man had shown up out of no where seconds after they left the bank. Thankfully, they got away, if not barely. Batman must not have been on his game for some odd reason.

Regardless, he was now back alone in his private apartment (living with his associates was just not an option) thinking back on the heist. Scarecrow bit his lip and lifted his glasses off his face to rub at his face. He just couldn't get those brown eyes out of his head. From that one little moment of absurd anger that bubbled up in him, it became an obsession. It started with little things, those eyes popping into his head a day or two after the heist. Thinking about their meeting after seeing him again on the news for being at the bank during the robbery.

It just kept tumbling down hill after that. Jonathan found himself distracted from his work by those damn brown eyes and their challenging look and this, gut instinct that he'd seen them before. Maybe in a dream or something equally disgusting and pathetic. Scarecrow was then looking at magazine clippings and reading about his charitable works outside of Gotham. Discovering so much more to the Prince of Gotham that wasn't reported on the news. Good things. Things dedicated to science and society and he started to feel an affinity for this man.

In addition, to say that he was attractive was completely unneeded. It was a given. The man was gorgeous and had pre-occupied Jonathan's thoughts in more ways than one be it in bed or shower during his few private moments. Jonathan Crane held his head and shook it slowly. He'd fallen. He'd fallen so far that the Mariana Trench looked like a crack in the sidewalk. Jonathan Crane was attracted to Bruce Wayne. He wanted to, to touch him, and other unrepeatable things that would probably drive him mad if he ever got the chance to do so.

And now, sitting alone in his dilapidated apartment on the edge of the narrows watching an old television with a crack in the screen he could just _feel_ his eyes narrowing and lips stretching into a snarl. The broken screen still displayed the picture clear as day revealing laughing (beautiful) brown eyes and white teeth at a party. This man who had affected him in ways he never thought possible in addition to being handsome, considerate and somehow comforting also had one, giant flaw that was bringing out the Green-Eyed monster in Scarecrow. Bruce Wayne was an idiot playboy.

Scarecrow would just have to fix that. He really was never was fond of sharing.

* * *

Bruce Wayne was sure that something was amiss.

That could be the only reason that the Scarecrow was standing in his living room with ten or so lowlives dressed as furniture salesman. So, not only was he confused as to why Jonathan Crane was here, but he was worried that the man went through the trouble of looking up the schedule for when he was going to deliver furniture to his house. Could the man be that pissed off he back talked him at the bank heist a month ago? Or was it worse and the Scarecrow figured out he was Batman? Bruce glanced behind him to try and spot Alfred but his attention was brought back to the mad man when he cleared his throat.

"Hello again, Mr. Wayne." Scarecrow pulled off his mask and ran a hand quickly though his greasy black hair to straighten it out before adjusting his glasses. He had that smug look on his face that Batman had come to hate. "I do believe our last conversation was rudely interrupted." He smiled and dropped down onto the couch behind him and crossed his legs like he owned it. "Shall we continue then?"

Bruce stared and stayed standing where he was. He knew the villains of Gotham were odd, but this was just too much. The incredulity of the entire situation seemed to cut off his common sense momentarily. That was the only explanation for what came out of his mouth. "Continue what? I call you a madman again and you toss some drug in my face?"

"Well, that wasn't the conversation I was hoping for," Crane chuckled and set his cheek on the back of his knuckles. A small string of hair fell between his eyes. "But I suppose its a start."

Now Bruce _knew_ something was wrong. Crane was a class one narcissist. There was no way he'd let someone get away with insulting him that way and just smile like the cat who got the canary. Maybe the man hit his head or inhaled the wrong fume. Whatever was the matter, it was something very different than he was used to handling. "Are you alright?" Bruce asked before he could stop himself.

Crane blinked slowly in confusion before shaking his head. "I suppose being civil is no longer part of my character if you think there's something wrong with me for acting this way."

"Civil behavior aside, you'll have to pardon me for being confused." Bruce added slowly and started to take a few steps back. If he could make it down the hallway he could sprint and get to a phone (or knock a few of them out). "But why are you here again?"

"Ah yes. I was getting to that." Crane smiled again and waved a finger in the air. "Let's just say that I'd very much like to have you all to myself for a while."

Bruce felt the blow at the back of his neck and wondered if Alfred would ever let him live this down.

* * *

Jonathan Crane decided he liked Bruce Wayne much more when he wasn't talking. The man was still very unconscious sitting in the high back chair in directly across from him. Naturally, his wrists were tied to the arm chairs while Dr. Crane enjoyed a cup of tea. The man would wake up in a few moments and then they could continue their conversation. Well, start a new one. Jonathan hummed into his glass. Though, he wasn't completely sure what they were going to talk about. Hopefully things moved along quickly enough that idle conversation wouldn't be much of a concern.

Jonathan placed his cup on its saucer and turned the glass already on the table full of water and a little something extra. Wayne stirred slightly in his seat as the man's breathing changed. He'd be waking up soon. Good. Crane hummed again and took in pre-waking moments. Eyes fluttered beneath the lids and his shoulders hunched slightly. Any moment now. Crane uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter.

This is just what Jonathan needed. He'd get his business over with and the odd fixation will have been fed and dealt with nicely. As warm a feeling the attraction to the man created Jonathan couldn't afford to continue to be so distracted from his work. His research was vital to the improvement of mankind and he needed to make more of it. Experiments to be had, people to punish.

Scarecrow had the most brilliant idea to dose Wayne after they were done. See him scream and writhe on the floor. After dutifully taking notes maybe they could have a repeat performance. Jonathan swallowed and started to tap his fingers on the chair edge. This is what he had been referring to. These constant little fantasies about Bruce Playboy Wayne that needed to stop.

Wayne stirred in his seat and Jonathan smiled. Hopefully this theory panned out. A child can beg and plead for that new ice cream flavor for weeks upon weeks. They'll look forward to it and lust for it and then finally, once they get it - you realize that rum raisin just wasn't as good as you imagined it would be. Scarecrow was hoping the same theory would apply. And if it was, well, the good Dr. Crane had a syringe full of sedative and an extra pair of handcuffs he could make use of later.

Bruce's eyes felt like lead. His head ached and he could definitely feel a pull on his senses that didn't usually come along with a concussion. Once his eyes finally peeled themselves back to look around the room, Bruce wished he was just unconscious again. All his momentary fears of being taken out by some madman as Batman, and it was Bruce Wayne who ended up bound to a chair. "Crane."

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." The doctor chuckled and lifted a glass of water from the stand next to him and the stiff chair he had been occupying. He stood from his spot and strut over with his long legs and leant down in front of Bruce. "You must be thirsty."

He was, but that wasn't the point. Taking anything from Crane right now was sending off enough warning bells in his head that he knew to keep his mouth shut and away from the suspicious glass. "I'm good."

"Nonsense, I insist." The 'good' doctor smiled and grabbed Bruce's cheeks to force his mouth open, thumb lodged between his teeth to keep them from budging. Bruce attempted to bite down, but Crane knew his stuff apparently as the angle was just awkward enough that his jaw was stuck. "Now be good and swallow or you'll choke."

Bruce gagged when the water started to pour into his throat. A good portion of it spilled over his chin and onto his lap, but that apparently wasn't enough to deter Crane because he kept pouring. When the glass was finally empty, the man stood back from Bruce and returned to his own chair to replace the glass on the counter. Bruce spit out the bit that had pooled in his mouth and demanded Crane to answer. "What was in that?"

"Just a little something to make this easier." Scarecrow shrugged before walking back. "You see, over the past few weeks you've become a bit of an obsession for me. Ever since that bank I've found myself looking up your articles and thinking of your brown eyes and having, well, odd dreams that aren't up my usual alley. It's an odd frustration that I'm not used to dealing with and you are smack dab at the center of it, Bruce Wayne.

"I just can't get you out of my head. Quite aggravating really. I can barely even study my toxins with these, urges, appearing out of no where and ruining my mood." Crane continued and Bruce flinched when the man knelt before his chair and placed a hand on his thigh. He had encountered some odd things from the crazed of Gotham in his time but he'd never been the center of it. At least when he wasn't running around in Kevlar. Bruce knew the confusion must have leaked onto his face because Crane sighed softly. "To dumb it down for your tiny brain, I've found myself quite attracted to you and I feel the only way to get it out of my system is for us to have intercourse."

Bruce choked. "What?"

Crane waved his fingers from his free hand in the air and snorted. "Believe me, it came as a shock to me, too." The ex-doctor had the nerve to chuckle while Bruce's eyes widened. "Though I was hoping the day I finally felt a physical attraction for someone it wouldn't be the pretty eyed bimbo. Though I suppose I should be thankful you're not blonde but really now, I thought I had better taste than this."

Bruce wondered if he should be insulted. An odd thought to have but it was definitely there. He shifted in his seat slightly when he started to feel something odd in his gut. Sweat started to drip down his face and he noticed that the temperature was rising. Crane was humming now and started to undo his tie and his skin felt like it was burning from the brushes of fabric. The Batman in him realized Crane never did answer his question. "What was in the water!"

"I thought I was clear, but alas." Bruce winced when Crane pat his cheek like a child. "A rather impressive aphrodisiac I cooked up. Tested it on a colleague last week and it worked wonders." Crane paused. "If it wasn't so far out of my range of study I may have gone into that. Thankfully I did get a few moments of his delightful fear when he realized what he wanted so badly was. It's amazing what you can get people to do when they're in a state of constant frustration. This colleague was a brute you know. The manly man type who brags about how many women he takes to bed a week sort."

Crane paused in his constant rambling to start undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. Bruce was nearly squirming at this point and for reasons other than the fact he was about to be molested or that his body was reacting so well to the drug. There was no way the Scarecrow was going to overlook all his scars and Bruce had to think of something quick when Crane continued. "He was practically begging a man half his size to give him a little relief. Lucky for you though, I plan on indulging and saving you from that frustration."

Bruce sucked in a breath when Crane left his shirt and hummed. He was looking at him like a kid looks at a dessert and can't decide if they want to eat all the frosting first or go straight for the cake. Slim fingers brushed along his belt line and Bruce growled in frustration at the friction. "Crane. Stop this."

"Why? The damage has been done. You might as well let me help you, and myself, to this new problem of yours." Crane smirked before smiling softly as if he realized something new. "Or could it be that you are merely frightened? It certainly can not be your first time."

Bruce knew he was screwed when Scarecrow's face started to contort into some sick delight. Scarecrow. Fear Toxin. Bruce should have figured fear was a turn-on for the man. Shame it wasn't the rape that was scaring Bruce for the moment. Alfred popped into his head suddenly and Bruce wondered if anyone knew where he was at. The random thought was shoved from his head when Crane knelt down and put his mouth against the zipper of his pants, belt now removed. Bruce squirmed at the hot breath. What he wouldn't give to just be in a fist fight right now. Crane licked the fabric and Bruce jerked the chair back.

Scarecrow laughed and grabbed the chair with both hands to keep it still. "Now don't be like that. I was going to be nice." Crane smirked into the fabric, nuzzling his cheek, before sitting up. "But I suppose I can start somewhere more proper."

"Stop!" Bruce yelled and pulled at his wrists, still feeling sluggish from all the drugs in his system as of late from the sedative to the aphrodisiac and the adrenaline; one big soup in his veins. Bruce wondered where all his training had flown to. Was it the change of situation that had him so off guard? The only other villain to try anything even remotely similar to this sort of scare tactic was the Joker and he was easy to write off as a sick man. Crane was still on Bruce's 'human deep down' list. These were not levels that he wanted the man to be sinking to. "You really don't know what you're doing!"

"I do happen to know." Crane corrected him with a lifting of an eyebrow, fingering the loose collar of his shirt. The man slipped a knee up to press up against his hips and Bruce groaned. _Dammit._ Bruce hissed to himself at Scarecrow's satisfied smirk. It had felt good. Too good. _What the hell was in that drink?_ "And thanks to that little drug you'll be more than happy to let me do it." He laughed and apparently lost all sense of patience as he gripped both sections of Bruce's shirt and _yanked_ hard enough to pull it all open at once.

And stared, face aghast.

The cruel smile-that-was-more-smirk that suddenly spread across his face in near slow motion was more than enough for Bruce to justify letting out a soft "Shit."

Scarecrow was grinning, hand shaking slightly as he gripped the fabric. Bruce Wayne wasn't just good looking. He was downright sculpted with muscle and lines. Not to mention that little something extra that made him unique from the rest of the Gothamites: Scarring. Tons of them. The man's chest was littered in scars, burns, and other random bandages that Scarecrow doubt he picked up at the yacht club. Crane licked his lips and let a hand trail down a particularly nasty one on his hip that resembled a dog bite. The familiarity he had felt with _Wayne_ was suddenly so very, very clear. Just where it was he'd seen only those eyes. And that growling in his voice. As well as an explanation for how a certain caped vigilante was able to track him at the bank so very quickly. Crane nearly giggled.

"You do get around, don't you?" Scarecrow hummed happily and pulled Bruce's hips forward. "All around Gotham, I'd imagine. I mean, just look at these? There's real history here on your skin beneath your thousand dollar suit." Crane flattened his palm against the man's crouch and pressed down, satisfied the drug was doing it's job. Bruce full out snarled at him this time.

"Now there's a face, I recognize." Crane leant up, palm still firmly in place, causing what had to be a delightful pressure; he rubbed and was satisfied as the wriggling continued. "So rude of you Bruce to act like we'd never met before." Scarecrow shifted his head so that his lips were a few mere centimeters from the others. "Or should I call you the _Bat_ Man?"

"Let me go." Bruce continued with a straight face, eyes hard-stone. "Now."

"I think not." Jonathan pressed forward and kissed Bruce lightly. "It seems this revelation has only served to make the longing," He paused for the right word as his own brain started to lose its ability to process information. _Curse the change of blood flow._ Crane shifted slightly and undid his own belt to get more comfortable. "More agonizingly persistent."

Wayne looked ready to say something else but Scarecrow decided he'd rather put that mouth to better use. He smashed his mouth against Wayne's and wormed his way between the man's legs to press their waists together. Wayne was unresponsive and continued to try and fidget away, but his actions only served to grind their pelvises together. Heat and persistence finally drew Wayne into returning the affections and Scarecrow soon found his tongue competing with Wayne's as he even then tried to pull away. After another minute of struggling and spit dribbling down their chins, did Scarecrow lean back for a breath. "Not the best kiss I've ever had. I figured you'd be better at that, considering how many women you have on your arm."

"You're insane." Bruce spit out in both words and saliva. Jonathan wiped the bit of slobber off his face and frown. "You want to get revenge for shoving toxin in your face and sending you to Arkham? Fine. But not this way. I figured you'd have more self respect than to sink to this. You're better than this." Bruce's breathing was heavy now that his body was just as excited as the Scarecrow. Shame his voice cracked with the next exclamation of: "Now get off me!"

"Don't get me wrong, Bruce." Jonathan continued on as if Bat Man had said nothing. The poor man just hadn't realized how good of a situation he was in as of yet. There was no possible way Wayne was going to leave unsatisfied so these precoital remarks were hardly worth listening to. They'd be invalid shortly enough. "I really, truly do hate the Bat Man." He started to undo the buttons on the top of Bruce's pants. "And I would love watching him scream and claw and be utterly terrified by everything from the weakest man on the street to a piece of dust."

Wayne gasped when the pressure of his pants was removed and air hit bare skin. Jonathan smiled. "But I think, considering the circumstances, I'd much prefer getting to know Bruce Wayne and forgetting all about that naughty Bat. Man." Jonathan giggled again when he gripped the hem of Wayne's pants and pulled downward leaving the billionaire completely exposed and raw. This was so much better than petty revenge against a man in a freaking bat costume. "Remind me again, is this where I say, 'Don't worry, I'll be gentle'?"

Scarecrow made sure to make their time together last.

* * *

Bruce was starting to get used to the feeling of his eyes feeling like lead and his body not reacting the way he wanted. He groaned and rolled over in his bed and-

The billionaire shot straight up from the shock and looked around to indeed, find himself in bed - in his room, no less. Bruce looked down and pulled at his shirt and realized that whoever put him in bed also took the effort to dress him in a pair of pajamas. He rubbed through his hair and took a deep breath to center himself and get back into the game. He was Batman. Bruce could handle this.

So what if he couldn't report anything because it'd be giving up his identity as Batman? Bruce had learnt his lesson about keeping a closer watch on people who approached his house. Or if he'd have memories of Jonathan Crane doing _things_ down there that Bruce hadn't even imagined Rachel doing, rest her soul. Batman was more than capable of repressing unpleasant memories and events with other people. Bruce laughed nervously when he realized that there was even a huge gap in his memory from after the Scarecrow had finished and how he found himself in his room.

The bastard must have drugged him a second time.

Bruce took a deep breath and decided he'd concentrate on the now and hunt down a certain Wizard of Oz reject later. Alfred was probably worried as is (unless it was Alfred who dressed him in the first place...) Bruce's feet hit the carpet and he gripped at his blankets slightly before standing, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs and creak in his neck. Bruce heard a slight flutter and looked down at the ground to see an envelope. Reaching down he noticed that it was addressed to "Bat Man" (he frowned at the space between the two words) in calligraphy. Bruce braced himself for the worst and opened the letter to greet the scripted message inside.

Bruce crumbled the paper in his hand and sighed as soon as he'd read it. A mad man was in love with him. Just absolutely- Batman decided he'd rather patrol the city and beat the crap out of thugs than think on this. After a bath. And a cup of coffee. And after he spent an evening with Alfred. Maybe Bruce would just take a shower and come back to bed. Bruce tossed the letter in the trash, message up and tried not to imagine his next encounter with Jonathan Crane.

_Bruce,_

_I do hope it is alright to continue calling you by name. 'Bat Man' is so formal after all. I also hope you slept well and I wanted to thank you for a marvelous time. I have a few other things I think we should try next we meet and I know at least one of them is __guaranteed__ to be a shriek._

_Consider yourself lucky though, I had half a mind to just keep you after a performance such as that. But then I realized what a bother it would be to keep a pet and that the police would eventually come looking for you. How would we have more fun then? So alas, I'm afraid ours will be a long distance relationship even if I do hope to hear from you soon._

_And do keep any fret or worry that I'm going to spill your little secret inside until I can see it. Your little secret is safe with me after all. Unlike those other fools in Arkham: I have a brain. (And it's not made of straw, either, mind you.) _

_Until we see each other again be it with masks or otherwise._

_Yours Truly,_

_The Scarecrow._

_P.S. Do try and look me up, again, soon. Your pictures in the magazine just aren't enough any longer._

_P.S.S. And next time, wear the costume._


End file.
